Darius “D-Roc” Brooks lit a Black & Mild with hands that hadn’t stopped shaking since his arraignment.


He sat in the back room of Rico’s Auto & Body, where his crew met after hours. The TV played the news on mute: Maya’s face in the corner, smiling in front of a lip gloss display. Something about survival. About women winning.


He couldn’t look at it too long.


“Big homie, you good?”


Trey, his youngest runner, stood by the door. Nervous. Darius nodded, barely.


“Yeah. I’m straight.”


But he wasn’t.


Since the raid, things had shifted. The feds had frozen one of their dummy accounts. Malik was laying low, leaving Darius to handle clean-up. That included keeping the rest of the crew from flipping, covering his own name, and figuring out how his ex had turned into the neighborhood’s new hero overnight.


He hadn’t expected Maya to fold.


But he didn’t expect her to fight either.


“Your name’s in the paperwork.”


Malik had told him that just a week ago, jaw clenched, suit pristine even in crisis. “That girl filed a statement. You’re on the hook.”


“She was just mad,” Darius had said. “She ain’t built like that.”


Malik had looked him square in the eye. “Apparently she is.”


Now, back in the garage, Darius flicked ash into a dusty tray.


He knew what was coming.


A choice.


Loyalty or survival.


But loyalty had always meant something different in this game.


It meant silence.


It meant taking a fall for men who wouldn’t even show up to your court date.


It meant keeping your baby mama in check because love didn’t matter—control did.


He watched the muted TV again. Maya in full color. Her booth surrounded by girls who looked up to her like she was royalty.


And suddenly he wondered if maybe—just maybe—he’d chosen the wrong kingdom to fight for.